


gone like the pliocene

by crepescular_void



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Fantasy AU, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, George is a programmer, I'm Bad At Tagging, Low Fantasy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Teen for occasional swearing, Wholesome, but not yet, soft, this is a self-indulgent escapism fic im ngl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crepescular_void/pseuds/crepescular_void
Summary: weary and drained from long days of work, George doesn't question the cat that appears on his balcony; collarless, polite, and appearing to understand English.he does start to question, however, when it leads him to the woods near his house.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first dnf/ mcyt fic pls be gentle! a wholesome first chapter and intro for a decent-sized story i have planned. enjoy!

If George looked at one more line of code, he might disintegrate on the spot.

This week of work had been devastating to his eyes, strained and buzzing from reviewing line after line for errors and bugs. He used to have eye drops somewhere, but they’d either run out or disappeared, and if they were in another room he didn’t have the time to get up and find them. Never in his life had George been so laser-focused and efficient, and for so many hours without a break. It was awful. But really, the whole thing was his fault. In his own levity, thrilled at the short and sweet list of items his boss sent at the beginning of last week, he’d missed the second page of tasks and only noticed yesterday morning. 

Or, rather, two days ago. Finally, _finally_ , after almost 48 hours of only getting up for the bathroom and occasional Hot Pocket thrown in his microwave, he was done for the week, at about four in the morning on Friday, two hours before his deadline. 

Now what?

Normally he’d sit at the worn brown sofa in his living room and play a game or find something to watch, but he couldn’t stand to look at anything pixelated. George wandered to his kitchen, a quaint space attached to the room, and sighed with the idle hum of the fridge. There were ingredients, but no food. _Sleep for dinner tonight_ , he decided and traced himself back to his room. Besides the desk, where he knew a shameful amount of dishes and wrappers were stacked tall, his room was clean, and his bed was undone and inviting. If it wasn’t for the rough _thud_ at his window, startling him as he dropped his toothbrush in the sink, he would probably already be sleeping.

George swore to himself, uneasy as he paced back to his living room and stared at the sliding door that led to about two square feet of balcony. He was only on the third floor, but it was nice to feel the sun without having to get out of his pajamas some mornings. Now, he was staring at the curtain, too nervous to cross the room to the door and open it to the darkness outside. There was a little scratching sound against the glass, making George reel back. 

The scratching continued, unfortunately, loud enough that he’d hardly be able to sleep with whatever-it-was rattling on. George hesitated to remove the shade, lest he reveal something spooky enough to take his sleep, but whatever it was had clearly proven it couldn’t get in on its own. With a huff, he put his hand on the curtain edge and reeled it back. 

A cat.

Of course, it was. What else would it be? It was a little brown cat, with a white stripe on its nose. The cat didn’t have a collar, but if it was a stray, it was a very well-kept one. There were no mats in its fur and besides a little scar on its left ear, it seemed healthy. George knelt down and got a better look at the cat. The moment he did, it stopped scratching the glass door and looked right back at him, right into his eyes. 

“How the fuck did you get up here?” he asked, almost expecting an answer in his exhaustion. 

The cat, whose fur has different patches of caramel and dark brown, turned its head to the side, an oddly-human response to being asked a question. George shook his head. He clearly needed to sleep, but he very well couldn’t leave the poor thing outside in the cold.

“If you scratch me, you’re going right back out,” he muttered, giving the cat a warning glance. He would give the cat some food and water, and in the morning he’d take it to a shelter, or something. Just so he could sleep peacefully. That’s it. 

The cat walked to the side, where the sliding door would open, and waited patiently. George watched the cat closely as he slid open the door, but the cat didn’t run inside as he was expecting. It sat poised as the door opened in front of it, looking up at George expectantly.

“What? Did you change your mind? It’s open, you can come in,” he said to the cat. To the _cat_. How many hours had he been awake again?

Talking to the cat didn’t seem so silly when the cat walked in after George finished welcoming it inside. It walked right up to George’s and nuzzled its face against his leg, then walked past him, straight to the kitchen. George was looking up “what to feed a stray cat” on his phone while keeping an eye on the cat to make sure it didn’t knock anything over.

Just over an hour later, after the cat was fed and drank well from the bowl George set out, he finally put his head down on his pillow, resolving to take the cat out to a shelter in the morning. Moments before he finally slept and the sun began to rise, he felt a warm weight down at the end of his bed, where the cat had bundled itself into a little circle at George’s feet and slept. 

________________________________________

A week went by and George had not gotten rid of the cat. 

How could he? It was the most polite cat he’d ever met. Cat, who he didn’t give a real name in order to “not grow attached”, never scratched, never pushed glasses off of his desk, never hissed, never left George’s side. Throughout his workweek, Cat would sit in his lab, or on his desk, or on the makeshift cat bed that George had crafted out of pillows and blankets. It seemed to like watching him code, not that he could imagine why that’d be interesting for a cat. When it got late and George lost track of time gaming in his living room, Cat would paw at his leg and try to get him to follow, into bed. His heart warmed at the gesture, and he found himself less lonely, even if Cat couldn’t answer when he asked rhetorical questions or thought out loud. Still, George had a feeling that Cat spoke English somehow- it listened to his instructions with eerie accuracy.

There was only one odd thing- every afternoon, when George was done working for the night, the cat would try to lead him to the front door. Cat would paw at the wood, brush his head against the door. After his work was submitted for the week the following Friday, George decided that Cat was well-behaved enough to take for a walk. 

It didn’t occur to him until they were halfway down the stairs to the street that Cat was totally free to run away, given he didn’t own a leash. It’d completely slipped his mind. Cat didn’t run, though, walking leisurely down the sidewalk, with George beside him, smiling with amusement at the curious creature. Cat led the way, not distracted by the cars and avoiding passers-by. After ten minutes of walking, George made a mental note to be outside more often; the early spring wasn’t as brisk as he thought, the fleece of his hoodie keeping him warm enough to enjoy the afternoon breeze. The foreignness of it made George feel like he’d been a shut-in for longer than usual; he blamed the long, bitterly cold winter it had been, and swore he’d make amends to himself and his poor sun-deficient skin as the spring brought warmth.

Cat was definitely looking for something, with a sense of direction George wasn’t sure cats were supposed to have. It couldn’t be aimless wandering if Cat never went down the same street twice, never made three right turns, and peered down some roads before turning his head, not seeing what they were looking for. Perhaps Cat really did have an owner, and George was being a kind escort to help Cat get home. It felt nicer than dumping the polite cat at a shelter.

As they continued, some hour and a half of walking later, George glanced skeptically at Cat. They were nearing the outer edge of what was familiar territory for George, where a street of houses lined a section of woods. He knew it to be the closest thing to a hiking path nearby, with silver tags on trees and a gravel path between the wood. Some kids used to call these woods haunted, plagued by some masked man, but George knew every forest in every town had similar stories. The very beginnings of spring showed as they walked down the tree-lined street, tiny, perseverant buds of pink and green creating a pleasant mirage of pastels as he peered into the forest. Cat was taking their time on this street; maybe their owner was in one of these houses. George glanced at the houses and thought living near the forest might be nice for a cat to have some freedom in nature without getting far, as long as they knew their way back. But this brought another thought- if Cat could navigate for an hour and find their owner’s house, why and how had they gotten all the way to George’s apartment?

This thought didn’t last long, because when George looked back at the sidewalk Cat had gone, suddenly dashing towards a hole in the gate that bordered the forest.

“Wh- Cat! Wait!” George called, startled at the change in pace. He wasn’t sure why, but he chased right after Cat as they jumped through the chain link fence, calling after, “Wait!”

The hole in the fence was just big enough for George to squeeze through as he scanned for Cat’s brown fur. Cat was yards ahead, darting between bare bushes and budding trees, “Cat! Wait!”

It’d been a while since George needed to run, especially for this long, with the evening approaching and the air getting sharp in his lungs. He wasn’t sure how long he chased after Cat, losing sight of them and finding them a few steps later, getting within a few feet before their speed increased somehow, pushing off trees to help himself up a hill. After a while, his run started to slow, and he noticed by the sound that the gravel path his shoes were initially stamping across had disappeared completely into the dark dirt, and there were no more littered bottles or silver tags on the trees. It had descended into the evening, the first signs of murky yellow showing as the sunset approached. How far into the forest had he chased?

But that didn’t matter now; there was a clearing up ahead, where the trees grew sparse and allowed a round gap in the wood. A soft brown silhouette in the center of the grass. Cat had finally stopped running. George took a moment to catch his breath, his muscles angry from use after their dormancy. As he traced a few steps out of the wood into the clearing, ready to reprimand Cat and really hoping they could understand it, something peeked out of the wood opposite him.

The figure has its back to the soon-setting sun and was captured in an orange glow from behind them that only traced a silhouette. They were yards away, but George could tell they were tall and looming by their slow gait, broad shoulders intimidating, even at such a distance. And at their face- a round mask that covered from the top of his head to just above his chin. It was hard to tell in this backlight, but it looked like light wood, chipped around the edges, with a comically simple, two-dots-and-a-line smiley face shallowly carved in. The spaced-out eyes might have been cute if George wasn’t so fucking terrified. He couldn’t tell where the person was looking with the mask, but all the alarm bells were hitting him at once. How stupid, chasing Cat so far into a forest he knew nothing about, just in time for it to get dark, just in time for whoever it was behind the mask to probably murder him and prove the kid’s ghost stories true. George was still as he looked between himself and the figure, trying to pick between fight or flight. Cat took notice of the figure. And-

And ran towards him?

Cat practically skipped to the masked man, walking around their legs and nuzzling them. The figure knelt down and pet Cat with big, tan hands, covered mostly by black gloves that cut off at his fingers. The man said something down at Cat, too quiet and too far for George to hear. Maybe the chance of George getting murdered was going down, as Cat seemed to trust him well, but the chances weren’t zero yet. George was still frozen across the clearing, startling when the mask turned to face him and his voice filled the clearing.

“Did you bring Patches back? She was gone for a while, ” the masked man said, still petting Cat; Patches. His voice was low, and a bit hoarse, but… disarming. 

“Uh- yes,” George said. In reality, Patches had led _him_ here, but he’d rather be on the masked man’s good side, just to be safe. 

“She’s… your cat?” George said. What to make of Patches finding this stranger in the woods. If she was his owner, why not go to his house? How did she find him here?

“Sort of. It’s more like we’re friends,” the man said, and George could hear fondness in his tone and see it in the way he pet her. If George had the gall, he would ask about the mask, ask what on Earth he was doing in the middle of the forest, but that felt rude, and he still wasn’t completely sure the man wasn’t gonna stab him.

“Do you know your way back?” the man asked. 

Difficult question. George most certainly did _not_ know the way back, and the trail had ended a while ago. And no less, the sun formally began to set, and he would have even less luck in the dark. Yet, this man was a stranger, and the only sureties that George had to go off were that Patches seemed to like him and he hasn’t been stabbed, yet. So, his choices boiled down to; _definitely_ get lost on the way back in the dark, or take the man’s help and only _maybe_ get stabbed. George sighed. _Animals are supposed to be great judges of character, right?_

“Honestly? I have no idea,” he admitted. 

“We can show you the way out,” the man offered, standing and starting to walk forward. Patches walked ahead of the man, greeting George at his feet much like when they first met. George looked wearily at the masked man,

“You- uh… you aren’t going to stab me, are you?” George asked, cringing at himself. He wouldn’t last ten minutes in a horror film, would he?

The masked man chuckled, honest, and rose his hands with his palms facing out,

“No, no. Wasn’t planning on it,” the man said, the low roll of his voice disarming and kind, “plus, Patches likes you,” it sounded like he was smiling, but there was no way to know for sure.

The masked man approached George to start to lead the way. As he got closer, George could make out more of his features in the sunset’s light. He was wearing an open duffel coat over a dark green sweater, scuffed with dirt in places, the hood pulled up over his head. Behind his pale wood mask and under his hood, wavy light brown hair stuck out in small tufts. His neck was mostly covered by the collar of a turtleneck shirt. George thought he could see stubble on the small sliver of the man’s chin left uncovered by the mask, but at that moment he tilted his head down, and George turned away, wondering if he’d noticed him looking.

As the masked man walked past and started to lead out of the forest, Patches close at his side, George followed a few feet behind. The masked man was tall, maybe half a foot taller than George, and if not for the friendly chat and the warmth with which he greeted Patches, George would still be frozen in fear. Only a few feet into the woods, the man looked at the base of a few trees before finding what he was looking for, an old flashlight, and storing it in his sweater pocket for when the sun finished setting.

“Where did you find her?” the man asked after a few minutes of wordless walking. George immediately preferred this to the eeriness of silently walking with a stranger.

“She just appeared on my balcony, last week. I have no idea how she got up there, but she wouldn’t stop scratching the door until I let her inside,” George said, “does she usually run off like that?”

“Not for that long, and not seeking someone out,” the man said, contemplative, “maybe you’re special.”

George smiled at that, the pleasant feeling of a cat’s approval. He wondered what he’d done for Patches to like him, to choose his balcony and keep him company. But he wasn’t long distracted from the mystery of the masked man. There was so much to know. How did Patches know to find him here? Why was he so deep in the woods? Why the mask? What was his-

“What’s your name?’ George asked. It was the least invasive question he could think of.

The masked man was silent for a few paces, and George grew more nervous for every passing second. 

“You can call me Dream,” he said, voice low.

“Dream?” George tested out, “Is that your real name, or just something I can call you?”

“Is a name not something you should call me?” Dream said. 

George decided to drop it, and not push his luck. _Dream_. Funny name.

“And yours?” Dream asked

He hesitated, wondering if he should give a nickname, too. But what was the anonymity for? Maybe George was missing something. Maybe it was part of the mask. 

“George,” he answered.

“Interesting,” Dream said to himself, holding up a branch for George to weave through.

“Interesting?” George chuckled, ducking under the branch and Dream’s extended arm, “just about as boring as a name gets.” 

Dream shook his head, his expression unreachable behind the mask, and made no comment. He let George pass in front of him, and George assumed they were to keep walking straight. Every minute that passed, George thought of a million more questions to ask, curiosities multiplying by the second. His age? The man sounded young, but there was no way to tell without his face. Where he lived, was he from town? What did he spend his time here in the forest doing? Why the mask, if no one else treads so far into the woods? If his name was too personal, what was he allowed to ask? Darkness crept through the forest, the last licks of light appearing as slivers on the tops of the tall trees and at their feet and Patches’ paws. Cold followed, and George stuck his hands in his pockets. Behind him now, Dream reached for the flashlight and it flickered to life.

“A left, after the fallen log,” Dream said from a few feet behind, pointing the flashlight to the log. He kept a little more than a comfortable distance.

George seized the opportunity to start the conversation once more, “You really know your way, even in the dark. Do you spend a lot of time out here, Dream?” he said his name on purpose, hoping it might have some effect.

“I do,” he said. 

Simple. But the end of the phrase bordered another word, just barely unsaid. George wracked his mind as he did when he was looking for the error in a dense wall of code, looking for just the right wording to get Dream to spill a secret. He was so deep in thought that he missed what Dream said from a few feet back,

“And then look out for the- hey, George! ” Dream called, just as George had taken an unknowing step down a decline.

George gasped as he felt air under his right foot instead of the ground, like he had missed the last step on a flight of stairs, only it was the very top step and the lurch of falling hit him within a second. It was the incline he had scaled on his chase for Patches- the one so steep he needed to help himself up with the tree trunks to avoid toppling. He cringed his eyes shut and braced.

But there was no fall- just a tight grip on his left wrist, leaving his body standing at a forty-five-degree angle to the ground. The flashlight fell to the dirt, casting light at their faces. 

“- the hill,” Dream huffed; he had been quite a few paces behind, and it was a miracle he’d caught up in time to stop the fall.

“Right, right, hill,” George sighed in relief. 

The large hand wrapped around his wrist, texture hidden by the gloved part of his palm, was too warm for the chill that had fallen across the forest. Too warm for the visible air that left George’s lips when he exhaled heavily from the shock. The pair froze for a moment, George fixing his footing while watching Dream carefully. He wanted a secret, a peek under the mask. He wanted the error in the code. Dream pulled George up with ease, back onto the horizontal ground.

“Thanks,” George said. He leaned down and picked up the fallen flashlight that Patches was perched beside.

“You’re cold,” Dream said, quieter, despite being closer than he’d been the whole walk.

“S’okay, we’re probably almost back. I think I can see the house lights, down that way,” George said, turning and looking past the hill. When he heard no response, he turned back to Dream, who held his dark gray coat in an outstretched arm. George blinked a few times.

“You’re giving me your coat?”

“No, just felt like stretching my arm out,” Dream said. 

George blinked some more. Sarcasm? And … friendly gesture? He felt like he should be writing these things down, like he was documenting some foreign species for a nature program.

Dream sighed- it wasn’t audible, but there was a subtle drop of his shoulders before he spoke, 

“You’re cold and I don’t mind. My thanks for feeding Patches for a week.”

George thanked him and smiled, curiosity thrumming through his head with even more vigor. He took the coat and decided to simply wrap it around his shoulders. It smelled like pine needles. They took the long way down, far less steep, and wrapped in a quiet that wasn’t all that unpleasant, anymore. The afternoon- wait, had it really only been one afternoon? It felt surreal, like George had followed Patches into some strange dimension and spent the week there. He wasn’t sure he minded- this was the longest he’d talked to someone in person for a while, the longest he’d been outside, the only hike he’d been on since high school.

And as for the man who led him out of the forest, he was unsure what to think. Dream was just a person, surely. With a name, and a face, and an identity. Though odd in circumstance, his voice- the only thing he had to go by, really- was kind and honest. George couldn’t think of a reason for the mask, but if it wasn’t malicious who was he to judge?

Along the rest of the walk, Dream let George and Patches walk in front, giving directions when necessary. It was hardly conversation, but the tension seemed to fizzle out, replaced by a more welcoming quiet.

“Hey, we made it!” George said when the houses came into view. The streetlights were on, and he turned to face Dream and handed him his flashlight. Patches seemed to know George was leaving and walked around him in circles.

“Here, your coat,” George said, reaching for the collar to hand it back to Dream.

Dream shook his head, the mask catching the lamplight, “Keep it. Maybe Patches will bring you back here, sometime,” he said.

George turned his head to the side, furrowing a brow, “Are you sure? What about your walk home?”

“It’s not far,” Dream said, and George thought he heard a smile in his words. George already had one leg through the hole in the fence, then the other, standing on the street side. Dream stayed behind.

“I’ll see you around, George,” Dream said, and Patches looked up at George before turning back into the forest.

“I… I’ll see you around, Dream,” he echoed, confused as Dream followed Patches, headed back the way they came, back into the forest, where the light had left entirely. 

Another secret.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> '“You’re a good person, George,” Dream said. George blinked, with a laugh that came out like a scoff.
> 
> “Hardly. I nearly stole your coat,” George said, and they laughed again.'

Two weeks had never gone by so slow.

George had a terribly boring schedule, he was starting to realize. His weekdays were so similar that they were indiscernible, and weekends a blurry compilation of time-wasting games and television. He had the sense to know he didn’t make plans often; such was the reality of awkward years after university, when there weren’t any roommates or classmates to keep as a default set of friends. But he’d been fine for a year like this on his own, and only after a strange cat had appeared on his balcony did it occur to him that he was lonely.

Now, instead of waiting for the end of his work, he was waiting for the cat’s return. He’d even bought a little bag of cat treats the last time he’d left for groceries, hoping Patches would appear again. Somehow. To give him a reason to go back, to have an adventure, to get lost again.

To return a borrowed coat.

Curiosity from their first meeting had only spiraled; much worse, now that he had no new information for two weeks. He’d tried to look him up, but felt like a complete idiot typing “Dream” into his search bar and being greeted by stock images of beds and tips on how to get a good night’s sleep. So instead, he ran over what little conversation they had, over and over again, wondering if he’d learn something new with the lenses of hindsight.

George tried to extrapolate, to find something in the simple words and gestures. He likened it to the editing portion of his job, scanning walls of code for the one character that gave away the error. He’d reasoned that the man couldn’t be too far from his age, with the sound of his voice and the strength that he’d helped him up with. And with the way she approached him, he couldn’t have been lying about being Patches’ owner (or friend, as he’d put it). He knew his way around well and had a deliberately placed flashlight waiting for him, it was no mystery that he spent a lot of time in the woods. But _why_? 

If he were a different person, he would’ve already gone back and asked. Hell, he would’ve just asked him outright the first time. But Dream didn’t ask any questions and had no issue spending the better part of an hour helping a perfect stranger get home and lending his coat, so it would be quite a jump to ask where the man lived or how he spent his time.

Still nervous to return to the woods- and feeling oddly uninvited without Patches escorting him- George started to go on walks every few days, in the late afternoon after work, trying to revive the feeling of the forest without stepping too close to its borders. Weather fluctuated with the uncertainties of spring, bitter chill some days and welcoming sun others. On nights the winter weather lingered, George wore the dark gray duffel coat, a size too big for his small frame and bearing the comforting scent of pine.

A cloudy Monday, a bit rainy for a walk in the mid-afternoon, George crossed an item of the list of tasks for the week. He’d typically segment his work when he got his week’s itinerary, organizing tasks so he’d have a similar amount of work each day. This was a new practice, prompted by the two-day nightmare he’d dragged through the last time he met his emails with vacuity.

He stretched as he got up, leaving his room to make himself a sandwich. George kept his headphones on, listening to music that he played in the background of his work. Simple, repetitive tunes for repetitive work. Behind that wall of noise and his humming alongside it, his open fridge buzzed, and rain started to hit his windows and sliding door, just a drizzle under light gray clouds. And behind that noise… 

Patches! There was a familiar scratching at his door, that he managed to pick out despite the clutter of sounds. She had come back, after all, making the same elusive climb unto George’s balcony and pawing at the same spot on the glass. George didn’t stop the grin that lit his face as he set down the headphones and scurried to open the door.

“You came back!” George smiled as Patches stepped inside, and knelt to pet the soft white spot on her head.

“Wait, I got you something-” George said, stepping back into the kitchen and finding the treats he’d bought. And a towel- Patches wasn’t terribly wet, but she might be cold with the wind and the drizzle.

He returned with an outstretched arm, a small fish-shaped treat in hand; Patches took it gratefully. But she dodged George’s attempt to pat her dry with the towel, the pads of her paws tapping against the wood floor as she headed to the door, sat there, and looked back at him.

“Already?” George asked. If he was worried about showing up at the forest uninvited, the worry was quelled. His work was done for the day, and he could just bring lunch along with him. The rain was light, and the jacket had a hood.

“Just a second,” he said to Patches, headed to his room to change out of pajama pants and into sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. He dug his boots out of the closet, better than sneakers for the drizzle and mud that might await him. And a drawstring bag, which he packed with a folded windbreaker, his sandwich, and an extra. He thought he might be forgetting something, but was too eager to follow Patches out the door.

Grabbing the borrowed jacket from the hook near the entrance, and the bag of treats from the counter, George opened the door and let Patches lead the way. They got to the forest faster, this time. Patches seemed to know the way better, or maybe George was walking a bit faster; to avoid the rain, he reasoned. The pair returned to the same hole in the fence, traced the same gravel path until it faded into the dirt, not wet enough to be mud but softened in places by the persistent drizzle. George tried to pay more attention to the way after the path dissipated, trying to remember which fallen trees to turn at and which tiny streams to hop over.

When they neared the clearing, George kept an eye out for Dream’s wooden mask. By the time George stood in the center, Patches darted across the wet grass; returning with a tall silhouette.

“You’re back,” Dream said as he approached, and if George had to guess by the sound of it, he’d say he was smiling.

“If I waited any longer, you might think I stole it,” George said, grinning easily.

He shed the coat and set his bag down, leaning over to dig around for the windbreaker he’d folded- crumpled, really- to replace it. Before he realized it, Dream was right in front of him, crouching to greet Patches. They met each other’s eyes; well, eyes-to-mask. There was a dark mesh at the little holes in his mask, which George couldn’t make out much past. But he knew their eyes were locked, for that moment. The mesh was dark enough to make the eyes behind the mask blurred, and mar the color; another mystery. Dream turned his head to the side, mask rotating. Oh- George realized that he might have been staring towards his eyes a smidge too long, and stood up from his bag.

“Right, here-” George managed, pushing his hand out and returning the jacket. 

Dream stood as he took back his jacket and put it on, and George felt his eyes on him through the mask. George raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve been wearing it?” Dream mused, surely smiling with the tease in his tone. Something new.

Honestly, George hadn’t thought much of it. Most of the winter had gone without him leaving the house often, so his only sturdy coat was in some storage bin that he never bothered to dig up. when he considered it, maybe it was rude to be using the coat for two weeks before bothering to return it. But when he put on the windbreaker, he found himself preferring Dream’s duffel jacket, a size too big, smelling of pine, and heavy on his shoulders. 

“I could’ve returned it sooner, if Patches came to get me,” George settled on. 

Dream laughed, a good honest chuckle, and George was smiling again.

“Sure, blame the cat,” he said, and then they were both laughing. 

When they winded down, George was reaching back into his bag, “Patches visited as I was making lunch, so-” he took out the two sandwiches wrapped in plastic, and handed one to Dream. Dream hesitated before taking it, and George watched uneasily. Maybe they were still strangers, maybe he should’ve dropped off the coat and been on his way.

“Uh, sorry- too much?” he asked. Dream shook his head.

“No! No, not at all. Really nice of you, actually- I just…”

George put two and two together. The mask. He was such an idiot.

“Oh! Right-” he said. He was thankful he’d never dared to ask about the mask- it was clearly more personal than he’d originally thought.

Dream turned and nodded his head, signaling George to follow, and he did. After they re-entered the wood, he could see where they were headed; some sheets of plywood were sitting at the edge of an overhang, tall enough to stand under and covered well from the drizzle that was starting to get heavier. 

Dream sat on the plywood sheet with his back to the dirt incline that wrapped into the overhand, and George followed suit next to him. Patches settled into a ball on what looked like a make-shift cat bed nearby, made of leaves and moss. The drizzle was heavier now, and they could call it rain.

“I know it’s odd. The mask. But I don’t think I can take it off, yet.”

George turned to the mask in question, looking away, spotted with loose drops of rain. This is the first time the low, rolling voice sounded small against the rain. George felt guilty for being so curious.

“You don’t need to explain,” he said, “you can share whatever you want to.”

A beat. The rain got heavier. 

“You’re a good person, George,” Dream said. George blinked, with a laugh that came out like a scoff.

“Hardly. I nearly stole your coat,” George said, and they laughed again.

After a pause, the silence happily replaced with the rain, Dream asked what George did, when he wasn’t taking care of cats and getting lost in forests.

“I’m a programmer,” George said, unwrapping his sandwich, “lots of being a shut-in and staring at code. I think I was supposed to get a partner like a month ago, but they never showed, so I’ve been getting extra work.”

“Programmer,” Dream repeated to himself, almost inaudible in the rain.

“Hm?” 

“Do you like it?”

“My job? It’s alright. It’s a little less fun when it’s mandatory, but I like to code. Editing, especially. It makes sense. You always know there’s an answer,” he paused to take a bite of his sandwich, “what about you?”

“Hard to explain,” Dream said. George added that to the list, another mystery that was off-limits. For now.

“Hmm… so, how do you spend your time?” George tried, “you don’t live in the woods, surely,”

“I do, actually.”

“You- wait, you’re serious?”

Dream nodded, “I don’t live _here_ , this little spot is new. There’s a little cabin, further in. It’s quiet.”

“I had no idea there were houses in here,” George said.

“Most people don’t. That’s the idea,” Dream said, sounding a little proud.

George disguised his thinking, eating his lunch. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it sure wasn’t that. If Dream wasn’t so friendly, the isolated cabin in the woods would put him right back up George’s likely-to-murder-me’ scale. Still, he took notes, as always. They were here rather than under a roof; the cabin went on the list of secrets. 

“Have I ruined your sanctuary?” George asked, only half-joking.

“No, no. It’s… nice. Having someone to talk to. I was a bit of a hermit if I’m being honest.”

George chuckled, “At least you see the sun. Before Patches came over, I’d hardly leave my house if not for groceries.”

“And after Patches?”

“Well, outside wasn’t as bad as I thought. Never saw myself as an ‘afternoon walk’ person, but it’s relaxing,” George said. He spoke easily, like Dream was an old friend.

“With my jacket?” Dream asked. 

George scoffed, still getting used to humor from someone so reserved, and giving Dream a nudge in the arm with his elbow, “Shut up.”

They spoke for a while after, and Patches came to sit between them and collect twice as many pets as usual, Dreams left thumb tracing over the little white spot on the top of her head and Georges right hand tracing over her back. Patches was the opposite of what George thought cats were supposed to be; outdoorsy, affectionate, and not afraid of rain. George reached for his bag and took out a few treats for her.

“Do you have a cat, or did you go out and buy them just for her?” Dream asked. 

George grinned at Patches, who accepted a treat happily, “Just for Patches. She’s a special cat,” he said, and didn’t elaborate.

  
  


Dream didn’t say anything, but George liked to think that meant he was smiling. They spoke casually. George learned that Dream’s favorite color was green, he’d never had sushi before, and he’d help animals out of hunter’s traps in the shallower part of the woods.

“You cut them out of traps?” George asked, taking his mental notes frantically. This was very new.

“Yeah, I go out to check for them most mornings with Patches. It’s not like anyone survives off them for food, or anything. They just want a lucky rabbit’s foot, or antlers for their walls. It’s creepy,” Dream said. It might be the most George has ever heard him say all at once.

“I’m sure they’re thankful. The animals.”

Dream shrugged, “That was the point, originally. Now there’s a bonus. It’s really funny, seeing how annoyed people get when their traps are empty,”

George laughed at the thought, and Dream laughed at the memory. Patches enjoyed all of the attention, sat content between them. Dreams hand brushed against George’s, tips of his fingers still warm compared to George’s despite the cold that came with rain. Maybe that was why Patches liked Dream so much; he seemed to run like a furnace. Dream’s hand moved quickly though, retracting back to scratch behind Patches’ ear. George keeps the thought to himself.

“The rain’s getting worse,” Dream said, looking up at the sky. He’s right; the light gray clouds have gotten dark with storm and evening, more foreboding than earlier, “I might have to board up the cabin if it goes on too long.”

“It’s not weatherproof?” George asked. Houses were supposed to be good at that, right?

“I’m not the best engineer,” Dream said.

“You- hold you, you _built_ the house? That’s insane!”

Dream chuckled, “I didn’t build it from scratch! It was like, half-built when I got there, and I just replaced the wood that was rotting and some holes in the ceiling. Shit insulation in there, though.”

George was trying to understand the mortgage situation on building a cabin in the woods, and Dream laughed harder at his dumbfounded expression. George smiled, but still looked utterly lost, and Dream laughed harder still, losing his breath until his laugh was so hard it went silent, and he doubled over. George couldn’t help but laugh too.

“I’ll have to see this cabin of yours sometime,” George said as they winded down, not thinking. He worried he might have ruined it, that Dream might feel invaded by the statement.

“Yeah,” Dream mused, “you probably should.”

It wasn’t a surety, and it wasn’t a promise, but it made George smile. Thunder rumbled in the distance, threatening their peace.

“You should probably get back,” Dream said, with what George thought sounded like disappointment, “I have to brace the house, and it might get hard to leave if the rain gets any heavier.”

George knew this was true, but it was still with a sigh that he looked at Dream as he got up. He had to lean to the side, so his hood-covered head wouldn’t hit the roof of the overhang. Dream extended a hand to George. He stared for a moment at the mask, which seemed a lot more friendly than he’d first thought, and then at the hand offering to help him up. Short nails lined with dirt, palm and knuckles covered by worn, black leather. The hand twisted at the wrist and his fingers fanned out more- George had been looking too long, again. 

He shook his head briefly and took the offered hand. How were the very tips of his fingers still warm, even as evening cold approached? Dream pulled him up with ease, enough force that George stumbled forward when he got up. They stepped out into the rain, the drops hitting heavy at George’s head and the tip of his nose. 

“ _That’s_ what I forgot! An umbrella!” George said, and Dream laughed. 

There was a shuffle behind him; warmth grazed his ear for the briefest second as Dream pulled up the hood of George’s windbreaker for him. The moment passed quickly, and they set out into the wood, headed to the fence. Patches went back to the makeshift cat bed and curled up there.

Maybe it was selfish, but about ten minutes in, George thought he might be able to get back on his own as he recognized the landmarks. He wanted to convince himself he’d surely still get lost, and that Dream needed to be there, and he wouldn’t have said anything if he wasn’t worried about the man’s house.

“Are you sure you can leave the cabin for this long?” George asked, “will it be alright?”

“It’ll hold up for now. Better the cabin have a leak then you get lost in the rain,” Dream said. George was walking behind him, following the hooded figure through stormy woods, and let himself smile.

“Can’t believe I thought you were a serial killer when we first met. You’re a big softie,” George joked when Dream held up a branch for him to cross under. He said ‘first met’ like they’d known each other for years.

“Oh come on, _I’m_ the softie?” Dream said, amused, “you brought me a packed lunch, and bought treats for my cat!”

Damn, he got him there. George opened his mouth, trying to think of a comeback, “You let me borrow your coat for two weeks!” he said.

“Yeah, because you were clearly freezing. Your skin’s like, ice, all the time,” Dream said.

George paused. He could comment on Dream pulling his hood up for him, or helping him out of the woods again, but he was stuck on the thought; Dream noticed, too? 

Thunder rumbled above, growing louder. The sky had dropped into the evening, darker than normal all at once. The mirage of trees didn’t help, and the hope of light from the moon was gone with the black clouds.

“Damn,” Dream said, “I left the flashlight at the cabin. It got darker earlier than I thought.”

This was fine for a few minutes, but the night got impossibly darker, and it wasn’t long before George tripped right over a rock that Dream didn’t think twice about stepping over. He caught himself with his hands, knees surely bruising, but thankfully not hitting his head.

“Shit! Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” Dream said when he heard George fall. His voice was louder to compensate for the rain. George got himself up and wiped his muddy hands on his pants. They could hardly see each other at this point, between the thickening rain and dark sky.

“You okay?” Dream asked.

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright. Haven’t got night vision like you, though,” George said.

Dream reached out for George’s hand and held it in his own. They didn’t interlock fingers, but Dream wrapped his much larger hand around George’s fingers in a loose grasp. 

“So you don’t fall,” he said briefly and continued to walk. George made no protest. Dream’s hand was warmer than his pockets, and he wasn’t sure he could catch himself if he fell a second time.

That was a smart decision; Dream helped George avoid falling a few more times during the rest of their walk, between rocks slicked with rain and mud that sunk in more than George anticipated. It went the same way every time; George would get caught with his foot under a branch or stuck into uneven ground, Dream’s grip would slip onto his forearm to stabilize him, George would laugh to shake off being embarrassed, and they’d be on their way. 

For the life of him, George couldn’t figure out how Dream could see so well in these conditions while he couldn’t even make out the man’s silhouette two feet in front of him. Dream knew the forest, sure, but he couldn’t possibly know by heart where every single rock, stick, and bush was on the forest floor, or exactly where to reach to push low branches out of the way. All of that, and with a mask on, dark mesh over his eyes. 

George made a note. Another error in the code that he’d have to find.

They noticed the street lights easily in the harsh contrast, and George could start to see where he was stepping, make out the outline of Dream’s coat ahead of him. Dream didn’t let go of his hand. George didn’t make an effort to retract his.

“Do you think Patches will be alright?” George asked. The rain was coming down less aggressively, but he still needed to raise his voice to be audible.

“She’s probably still dry as a bone in her bed,” Dream said as they approached the fence, “And you? You’re good to get back, from here?”

“I’m much better with streets than trees,” George said.

They stopped a few feet from the fence, watching the glow around the street lights that the rain created as it fell. Dream slowly let go of George’s hand.

“Uh- so, I’ll be going, then,” George said, “I hope the cabin’s alright.” 

His hand was cold again, already. He ducked through the hole in the fence.

“George?” Dream asked from the other side.

George looked at him. His mask was damp with rain.

“You... don’t have to wait up for Patches, next time,” he said. 

George smiled at the statement, but mostly at _‘next time’_.

“I’ll see you around, Dream,” George said.

“I’ll see you around, George.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! i'm really excited about where the story is going so far. i hope you're enjoying it, there's a lot more to come :)

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed the first chap! more to come soon :)
> 
> btw- the title is in reference to pliocene- cosmo sheldrake


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